


spes alit et falit.

by CelestialSilhouette



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Everyone Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills, Minor Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak, PBExchangeReunion, Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Reunion, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, profoundnet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialSilhouette/pseuds/CelestialSilhouette
Summary: ~hope sustains and deceives~Dean wakes up with a gasp.He shoots up in his bed, panting, heart pounding, and wide awake. He grips the sheets in his hands tightly and swivels his head to look around the room, making a half-aborted movement to reach under the pillows for the gun he knows always lies there, the smooth metal familiar and comforting.He doesn’t recognize where he is.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43
Collections: Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Reunion





	1. fallit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eliza_Sugarcane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza_Sugarcane/gifts).



> This work is written for Eliza_Sugarcane for the Profound Bond Gift Exchange. Morrigan, I hope you like this!
> 
> The title is Latin. Latin is cool, sue me.
> 
> happy destiel wedding day peeps!!!

Dean wakes up with a gasp. 

He shoots up in his bed, panting, heart pounding, and wide awake. He grips the sheets in his hands tightly and swivels his head to look around the room, making a half-aborted movement to reach under the pillows for the gun he knows always lies there, the smooth metal familiar and comforting. 

He doesn’t recognize where he is. 

It isn’t dingy enough to be a random motel that he’s stopped at during a hunt, and it doesn’t have the familiar nightstand and desk to be his room in the bunker.

The beige wallpaper covering the room is peeling on the edges, and Dean can see a bit of the previous floral pattern underneath. 

Dean scrunches his nose. That flowery shit should’ve been ripped off the walls a long time ago. 

He looks out the window. There’s a pond outside, where a family of ducks are swimming in. The sun is barely shining over the water, casting the sky pinks and oranges. 

On the wall next to the window, there is a painting. It’s colorful and bright, dotted with abstract shapes. It wasn’t something he would’ve chosen, but he had to concede to Sam that it  _ did _ suit the room.

Not that he would ever tell Sam that. His brother’s ego is inflated enough already. 

Dean’s heart slows in his chest. He takes in a deep breath and huffs out a laugh, his arms relaxing and he puts the gun back under the pillow. 

This house is pretty new. He had only started living in it a week ago. There aren’t many traces of  _ him _ , but he’s determined to make this place home, in a way that the bunker never was, that motels never could be. 

He breaths out, flops back onto the bed, the thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders and weighing down on him. 

Falling asleep is easier than it’s been in years. 

  
  
  


When he wakes up this time, he does so slowly, without any of the panic from earlier that morning.

He opens his eyes and smiles softly. Dark hair covers the pillow next to him, a halo of sunlight from behind his husband’s sleepy face. 

Cas lies on his stomach, face smashed into the pillows. 

Dean gently brushes his hands over Cas’s cheeks, and stretches. Cas groans when moves out from under the covers. 

“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” Dean says cheerfully. 

Cas groans. “Nnmmmppfff,” he says. 

Dean stretches and yawns. “How does french toast sound?” 

Cas grunts. Dean takes that as a yes. 

He pads down the linoleum floor of the hallway and makes his way to their kitchen, grabs a bowl and starts mixing the cinnamon, eggs, and vanilla extract. 

He hums ‘Ramble On’ while shaking his hips. 

When he’s taking the bread out of the pan, the floorboard creaks. He turns around, and sees Cas standing in the doorway, his hair mussed, foot curled around the thick carpet in their hallway, his body heavy with sleep. 

“You hungry?”

Cas makes a grabby motion with his hands. “Mmm, yes please,” he says.

Dean laughs and hands him a plate with a dollop of whipped cream on top. Cas snatches it from his hands, picks up a fork, and immediately starts  _ devouring  _ the French toast. 

“Did I wear you out last night?” Dean winks lasciviously. 

Cas rolls his eyes. 

Dean pulls out a seat facing him, and grabs his own plate of French toast. He bites into it and savors the crunch and the sweet taste. 

“So, what’s the plan for today?” 

Cas licks his fingers. “Sam said he had a hunt for us, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay. But there’s always time for a quickie before we have to go, right?”

“Oh,” Dean smiles, “I don’t know. We do have to be there pretty soon…”

Cas growles and flips himself onto Dean’s lap, straddling his waist. 

“Sorry, I didn’t get that. What did you say?” he whispers. Dean shivers slightly, and leans in for a kiss. 

Well. At least they tried to keep it quick. It’s the thought that counts, right?

  
  
  


Dean parks the Impala right outside the door of the bunker. 

It’s been a while since he’s lived there, and although he doesn’t regret moving out, it still was the first place in a long time that he could truly call his home. 

At least fifteen cars were pulled up near the front of the bunker. Dean winces when he sees them. 

“We’re late, aren’t we.”

“At least we decided to not go to the farmer’s market today,” Cas says hopefully.

Dean snorts. “I don’t think it’s gonna matter all that much buddy.”

Dean whirls around, and pulls Cas in by the loops on his belt. 

“Seeing as we’re already late, why don’t we just enjoy ourselves for a bit?” he says, and then leans in to kiss Cas. 

Cas indulges him for a while, before pushing him off. 

“Let’s go before Sam  _ actually _ kills us,” he says. 

People are bustling around the lobby when they walk in, and immediately stop what they’re doing to stare at them. 

When Claire spots them, she practically  _ skips _ over. 

“You guys are late,” she says cheerfully. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean replies, “We got a bit distracted.”

“You guys are late,” Jody says when they walk down the hallway. 

“I know,” Cas says long-sufferingly. 

“You guys are so screwed---” Charlie starts when they reach the outside of the command center. 

“---We’re so late, Sam’s going to kill us, bring us back, then kill us again. We got it the first ten times, thanks,” Dean snaps. 

Charlie lifts her hands up in an ‘I surrender’ motion. 

“Your funeral. Not mine.”

Dean stares at Cas, who pats his arm and threads their fingers together. 

They walk in together, to find Sam giving them both deadly stink eyes. If looks could kill… Well. They’d be dead fifty and a half times over at this point. 

“You guys are late,” Sam hisses, “Again.”

“We got distracted,” Cas says solemnly. 

“Why are you two  _ always  _ late?” he asks, before blanching when Dean opens his mouth to speak. “You know what? I don’t even want to know. Save it. Shut up. Let’s just start, okay?” 

They sit down next to Claire, who’s sitting on top of Kaia. Jody and Donna are sitting next to each other. 

“Okay, so as of right now, there’s a werewolf in Wichita and a wendigo in Topeka,” Sam says. 

“I call dibs on the wendigo,” Clarie says. 

Kaia rolls her eyes. “You just want to use a flare gun.” 

Claire winks at her. “You know me so well, babe.”

“Okay, Claire and Kaia, you can have the wendigo,” Sam says, drawing a circle around Wichita on the map, “But Jody and Donna are both going with you.”

“Seriously?” Claire whines. 

“Hey,” Dean says, “You two are on probation. Remember? Vegas?”

“We’re not going to Vegas! Besides, you’re one to talk” she shrieks. 

Dean smirks. “Whatever, loser.”

“Besides,” Cas says, “It is impossible for me to become inebriated to the point where I would allow Dean to accidentally marry the future queen of any European country.”

Claire stops in the middle of her sentence. “Okay,” she says, “Yeah. That’s fair.”

Sam clears his throat. “Besides, there’s only two hunts in the area. Eileen and I are going to go with Dean and Cas to take care of the werewolf.”

“Just like the old days, yeah?” 

Sam scoffs. “You mean with angels, demons, and apocalypses, plural? No thanks.”

Dean grins. 

  
  
  


Wilson County is cold during this time of the year. Dean shivers as he shuts the door of the Impala. 

“You good man?” 

“I’m ‘good’,” Cas says, shivering. Dean rolls his eyes and wraps his arms around Cas, rubbing his arms. 

“Alright, Sam just texted me. He and Eileen just checked in, so let’s go in their room first.”

Cas nods. “Okay.”

They walk across the parking lot hand in hand, and when the door to Sam and Eileen’s room swings open, warm air blasts him in the face. He sighs, muscles relaxing, relieved. 

“Did anything new happen today?” Dean asks, yawning. 

“A twenty year old girl filed a police report on a large animal that killed her boyfriend, in the same one mile radius of the other kills,” Sam says. 

“Great. Where’re we going first?”

“There’s a warehouse and an old mill nearby,” Eileen signed, “It’s one of the two only places where a wolf shifter could possibly hide. Everything else is an open field.”

“Okay. Cas and I can take the mill, and you two will cover the warehouse. Is that good with you?”

Sam gives him a thumbs up. Eileen nods. Cas doesn’t respond. 

“You good with that Cas?” Dean repeats. 

He turns around. Cas is dead to the world, snoring softly on the couch. 

Dean shakes his head, and picks Cas up, along with their duffle bags. 

“We’ll do it tomorrow morning.”

Sam snorts. 

  
  
  


Tomorrow morning is relatively silent. The only sounds he can hear are the traffic outside, and the clicking and clacking of loading their weapons and preparing them for the inevitable fight. Sam and Eileen are in their room, packing their bags and looking over the finer details of the hunt. 

It’s just Dean and Cas in their room. 

But Cas has been different ever since he woke up. Distant, not as present, not responding to Dean’s words and touches as he normally would. Dean’s anxiety raises with every jilted move Cas makes, with every mumbled word. 

“You good?” he whispers to Cas. 

Cas nods. 

Dean frowns. Cas was acting strange today. He wasn’t as warm and open as he usually was. 

Last night, Dean had chalked it up to being a long day, but Cas just slept for eight hours straight, so exhaustion couldn’t possibly be the answer. 

_ Maybe, _ a voice that sounds suspiciously like John Winchester says in his head,  _ he’s just getting tired of you.  _

He clenches his jaw. 

“You sure?” he asks, his voice softer, putting a hand on Cas’s arm. 

“Yeah,” Cas says softly. He looks at Dean with an inscrutable expression. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Dean whispers. 

They continue to pack their bags in silence. Dean can’t resist reaching over, brushing his fingers over Cas’s, bumping hips. Normally, Cas would be just as playful, and definitely more responsive. But Cas doesn’t even react, and it takes Dean bumping into him hard enough to shove him forwards a few steps to even acknowledge what Dean was doing. 

“Shit,” Dean says, “I’m sorry babe.”

Cas shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Dean bites his tongue before he says something he’s going to regret. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Okay. Are you packed?”

“Yes,” Cas says. 

Dean lets out a breath. They walk out of the motel room together. Sam and Eileen are going to be paying, so they just forgo going to the checkout. 

“Did you hear the plan last night? You were pretty out of it,” Dean says lightly. 

“No.”

“Sam and Eileen think that there are two places which could be the shifter home base. They’re taking the mill, and we’re gunning for the warehouse.”

“Oh.”

Dean shuts the Impala’s driver door. He starts the car and backs out of the parking lot. The Impala’s familiar rumble fills the silence between them. For a while, anyways. 

But Dean’s a social creature. He loves to talk, loathes empty spaces, hates feeling like he’s on his own. 

“So,” he says, his tone light and careful, “Wanna tell me what’s really going on now?”

“Nothing,” is the terse reply. 

Dean sighs. 

“Okay, Cas, cut the bullshit, alright? I know you better than that. You know that I know you better than that. What’s the problem?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Dean.”

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. It probably isn’t the best idea to take his eyes off the road while the rain is pouring heavily and obstructing his vision. 

“Then why aren’t you talking to me?”

“I’m talking.”

“You’re not talking to me. You haven’t said more than three words to me at once,” Dean grits out, “So you might want to try that again.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dammit Cas,” Dean hisses, “Talk to me, okay? Tell me what I did wrong, yell at me, or don’t, whatever. I don’t care. Just  _ talk to me _ , okay?” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Cas sighs, and looks out the window grumpily. His hair is all over the place, and his posture is slouched. He moodily stares at some trees as they pass by. Dean can see him swallowing. 

“Nothing’s wrong, Dean,” Cas says gently, “You’re perfect.”

He lies down, and lays his head on Dean’s lap. Dean nods slowly, and puts a hand on Cas’s hair and starts stroking. Cas relaxes in his arms, and lets out a contented sound. 

“Okay baby,” he whispers. 

  
  
  


The warehouse is dark when he walks in. There are cobwebs everywhere, and Dean has to brush a few away from his face just to walk through the front door. The beams are littered with termite bites and are falling apart on the spot. 

Dean wrinkles his nose. 

“You wanna take the inside, and I’ll look outside?”

Cas nods distractedly. 

Dean furrows his brows. “Or, we could always go together? If that helps?”

Cas shakes his head. “I have to do this by myself.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “And why is that?”

“I just have to,” Cas says. 

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Dean grits his teeth, but walks out of the warehouse. He tries to slam the door, although he doesn’t think that did much other than weaken the already falling apart wood. He stomps outside, and tears apart any branches in his way. He makes sure to swing the machete around an extra few times. 

“Don’t even know why I have this,” he mutters, “It’s not even a vamp hunt.”

Still, it feels pretty damn good to be able to unleash his frustration on  _ something. _

He makes his way around the entire warehouse, with nothing to show for it other than a few cuts on his face from some especially stubborn branches. 

He slams the door open, and this time, it just falls off the hinges. Bugs crawl out of it. 

“Ew,” Dean says. 

He looks around, but doesn’t see anything. He doesn’t even see Cas’s flashlight. He frowns. 

“Cas?” he says. “Did you find anything?”

He doesn’t hear a reply. Swallowing, he walks around the decrepit place, moving his flashlight around the room. 

“Cas?” he yells out. “Where are you?”

Silence. 

“Cas? Cas! Cas, say something!”

Then he turns around and sees a figure standing in the middle of the room, the dim light making his body look like a silhouette. 

Still, Dean would recognize Cas anywhere.

“Cas! What the hell, man?”

Cas ignores him. Dean squints. There’s something in Cas’s hand. He swallows. 

“Cas? What are you doing?”

Cas still doesn’t turn around. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says quietly. 

“Cas? Babe, you’re scaring me,” Dean says softly. 

“I knew they’d send you.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean? Cas, what’s going on?”

Cas turns around. The gun with the pearl handle, the one that Dean gave him to keep him safe, that Cas keeps under the pillow every night, is in his hands. It’s cocked, and he’s holding it to his head. 

Dean feels like he’s been sucker-punched. 

“Cas? Cas, drop the gun.”

Cas shakes his head. “You aren’t real.”

“What?”

“You aren’t real. This is a dream.”

“No, no no no, Cas, this is not a dream. This is real, Cas, we’re real,” he says, his voice shaking. 

He takes a step forward. 

“Tell me, Dean, what painting is on our bedroom wall?”

“It’s a lake during sunset,” he says quickly, rushed, “It’s where we had our first date.”

“Is that really what you saw?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, that when I woke up, it was an abstract painting. 

Dean’s breath hitches. “Cas, baby, drop the gun, okay? You’re panicking. Breathe with me, okay?”

“What’s our floor made of? Is it carpet, or linoleum? Vinyl or marble?”

“Cas, this is real. I swear to god, this is real.”

“Where were you sitting during breakfast?”

“Stop, Cas, stop. You’re freaking yourself out, Cas, just stop.”

“Were you beside me? Or facing me?”

Dean takes the few remaining steps forward, and pulls Cas into a hug. He clutches Cas tightly. 

“Baby, I’m here, okay? I’m here, I love you, I’ve got you now.”

Cas strokes his face tenderly with the hand not holding the gun. 

“I wish you were real,” he says, “I love you too.”

He shoots. 

Dean screams. 

Cas slumps in his arms. 

“No, no, Cas, what did you do?”

He sits down, gently lowering Cas in his arms. His entire body is shaking, he can barely process what just happened. Cas is still, a deadweight. 

“Cas,” he whispers. 

“CAS!”

He looks up. 

“You idiot, why’d you do that?” he says quietly. Tears quickly gather in his eyes, and fall into Cas’s hair. He clutches Cas tightly, blood seeping onto his hands. 

But then --- but then, but then. 

Cas disappears. 

“Cas?” he screeches. 

“Cas? Cas!”

It’s not just Cas. The entire warehouse is almost gone. The poles have disappeared too. And the weapons in his hands. The entire place is almost… disintegrating. 

The world crumbles away, falling apart like dust in the wind. 

Everything fades to black. 

  
  
  


Dean wakes up with a gasp. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. alit

He recognizes where he is. He’s in his room, at the bunker. 

“Shit,” he whispers. “ _ Shit.” _

Sam walks into his room. “Rise and shine,” he says cheerfully. 

Dean groans. 

“You got caught by a djinn,” Sam says, “ _ again _ . So guess who had to save your ass.  _ Again. _ ”

Dean feels like he can’t catch his breath. He stares at the ceiling unblinkingly, panting. 

Sam walks towards him slowly. “Whoa man. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Was it like the first djinn? The one that made you see mom?”

“Yeah,” Dean grunts. 

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Not your problem.”

“Dean,” Sam says. 

“Don’t.”

“Dean, I can’t just let you ---”

_ “Please.” _

Sam stops where he is, right next to Dean’s bed. 

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’m gonna check on Cas,” Sam says. 

Dean looks up. “Cas?”

“He was pretty roughed up by the djinn. He killed it, but I think it still got a few good shots in.”

“Oh,” Dean says. 

“Either way, his grace is almost gone.”

“Oh,” Dean sits up. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he says he’ll get his grace back now that he’s allowed back in heaven again.”

“Okay.”

Sam hovers around a bit more, fiddling with the curtains on his windows and readjusting his nightstand.

“Do you want anything? Food? Water?”

“Just leave me alone.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Sam exits the room, closing the door with a soft ‘click’. 

A djinn got the drop on him. 

A  _ djinn _ got the drop on  _ him. _

And Cas, that golden world where they had their own house, where Charlie was  _ alive,  _ and Claire was alive and  _ happy  _ with Kaia. Where Cas loved him enough to marry him. 

It wasn’t real. 

None of it was real. 

  
  
  


Cas is ignoring him. 

Sam went out after Dean could walk again. He went back to his house, with Eileen and their dog Lola. Because he has that, now. 

Claire hasn’t spoken with him in months. 

Jody and Donna have only sent sporadic and half-hearted “how are you’s”. 

And Charlie, of course, is dead. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this since Sam left for Stanford way back when, in 2001. 

He barely feels alive, drifting from place to place in the bunker, unable to stop moving, to stay in one place for more than a few seconds. 

He’s pretty fucking terrified that the world’s going to crumble around him again, that he’s going to see it drift apart before his eyes, and he’s going to find out that nothing was real, that  _ he _ isn’t real. 

Dean putters around the kitchen, quickly making breakfast. He sloppily makes a few pancakes and loads them onto two dishes. He bites his lips. 

He even manages to drag his feet out till he’s right in front of Cas’s door, hands held over the door, poised to knock. 

But of course, he’s too much of a coward to actually speak with Cas. 

So he just walks back into the kitchen, brings the plate of food, and leaves it in front of Cas’s door. He knocks gently, once. Then he walks away quickly. 

A few seconds later, right before he’s able to disappear into the kitchen, however, the door opens. 

Cas steps out to grab his plate. 

Dean can feel his eyes, as if they were burning holes in the back of his neck. 

“Thank you,” Cas says softly. 

Dean’s throat is dry, and he has to clear it before he can speak. 

“Yeah. No problem.”

He walks away yet again. 

_ Coward.  _

  
  
  


He can’t say that he’s surprised to see the Continental gone one morning.

Dean scoffs. 

“Didn’t even leave a note.” 

Dean walks back into the bunker, away from the garage, away from the empty space where Sam should be, where Cas should be. 

He drives into a bar downtown to get absolutely shitfaced. 

  
  
  


If he’s feeling particularly spiteful, he’d say that it’s not really that different, being alone in the bunker, without anyone else. 

Of course, that would be a lie. But no one has to know that. 

When he told Sam and Eileen that Cas had left, they had looked at each other. 

“Do you want us to move back in?” Sam had asked, “Cause we’d be happy to do that. Lola would be happy with a change of scenery.”

Eileen nods vigorously, as if she was trying to portray her enthusiasm to move back in. 

“What? Hell no,” Dean replied viciously, “You think I want you hovering around all day and night?”

Truth was, he did appreciate them asking, but no matter how lonely he was, there was no way he was ever going to ask any more of his little brother, especially not when he had finally found a place of his own, with a girl that he loved. 

It’s all Dean’s ever wanted for him. 

It’s all Dean’s ever wanted for himself. 

He’s sworn that he isn’t going to give Sam any more grief, and he intends to see that promise through. 

He’s pretty sure that Sam knows what he’s trying to do, he sees the look Sam shoots Eileen. 

But mercifully, Sam leaves him be, respects his wishes. 

  
  
  


Of course, Dean’s a creature of movement, activity. 

He can’t stand to stay in one place for too long, especially when there’s no one else there, he 

craves excitement and adrenaline. 

One night, he cracks. He can’t take the silence, the empty spaces all around him anymore. 

He grabs a few duffle bags, stuffs them full of clothes and weapons, and packs them in his Baby. 

Right before he leaves, he takes one last look around. He finds a picture of him, Sam, and Cas, taken god knows how long ago. 

He stares at that picture for an indeterminate amount of time, scrutinizing every detail, committing it to memory, and he debates over whether or not he’s going to take it with him. 

He folds the picture up and stuffs deep in his jacket pocket. 

When he sits down in the Impala, he pats her gently. 

“Just you, me, and the road, Baby.”

  
  
  


He hunts. 

It’s what he’s good at, what he’s made to do. He doesn’t know how to be alone and do anything else. 

He makes his way through two vamp nests in Hays in the span of a week, and even hits up the amateur witch coven in Salina. 

It’s cathartic, the familiar weight of weapons in his hands, the repetitive dance of fighting and killing.

He doesn’t have to think about anything, not about Sam and his perfect life, or Cas and the life that never was. 

It’s just him, the weapon in his hand, and the next monster of the week to gank. 

  
  
  


Sam calls him, a few weeks later. 

“Hey, Dean?” 

Dean’s immediately on edge. 

He’s known his brother his entire life. Even though he and Sam may have grown apart in the past few months where Sam’s been cozying it up with Eileen, he still knows Sam better than he knows himself. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Cas is… hurt,” Sam says. “Gunshot to the shoulder from a ghost hunt in Iowa.”

“Did he friggin’ shoot himself or something?”

“Amateur hunters were on the same case. It was apparently their first ghost hunt.”

“And what, they used  _ real bullets? _ ”

“It was their first ghost hunt, Dean.”

“Don’t they know that ghosts can teleport?”

“Dean, for god’s sake. They were amateurs.”

“... Is Cas okay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t… I... Just get your ass over to the bunker, okay? Cas needs you.”

Dean’s breath quickens. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, his voice dangerously light. “I’m on my way.”

He knows that Sam can probably feel the breathy quality of his voice, from the panic that’s building up in his chest, that threatens to overtake him. 

“Are you okay?” Sam asks softly. 

“I’m fine. I’m on my way. See you in a few,” Dean says. He hangs up before Sam can reply. 

He anxiously runs his hand through his hair, and paces around the room, throwing his stuff back into his suitcase. 

He double, triple checks to make sure that he has anything, paces around the room for a bit, slowly drags his bags to the Impala and sits in the seat for a while. 

He knows that he should be racing, that he should be rushing to Iowa as fast as possible to help Cas, to make sure that he’s okay. And perhaps, just a few months ago, that’s exactly what he would have done. 

But now, he just doesn’t know if he wants to see Cas. 

Not this Cas, the one who never married him, the one who doesn’t love him. 

He’s too chickenshit to even risk seeing Cas not love him anymore. He’s of the opinion that the days that Cas spent in the bunker were bad enough. He doesn’t need any more evidence. 

But then again… it’s Cas. 

Even if Cas doesn’t love him, he’ll always love Cas. 

He finds it hard to remember, sometimes, that even though Cas has his vessel, walks, talks, and even occasionally eats like a human, that he’s not anywhere near something that Dean could ever hope to perceive. He’s a celestial multidimensional wavelength of intent, or something like that. He’s fire, and grace, and lightning, and power. 

He’s not human. 

Loving Cas, Dean presumes, is like loving the stars themselves. You don’t exactly expect a sunset to love you back. 

He turns on the engines, drives out of the motel parking lot, and goes onto the highway. 

He’s got an angel to see. 

  
  
  


His first indication that something is wrong is when Eileen sees him walk into the bunker. 

“Dean,” she signs, her hands waving quickly in his face. “It’s so nice to see you again!”

She wraps her arms around him. 

Entirely too cheerful for an occasion where someone just got shot and was on bedrest. 

Dean’s brows furrow. 

“Sam?” he asks. “Sammy, where the hell are you?”

“Infirmary,” Dean hears Sam say. 

Dean slowly walks there. He opens the door, and steps inside. 

It immediately closes, and he can hear the lock clicking on the outside. 

“No,” he yells, and fiddles with the door knob, “What the fuck, Sammy?”

“It’s for your own good,” Sam replies, the bitch. “And don’t you dare break down the door!”

Dean curses. 

Cas stares at him. 

“You’re not… dying,” Cas says. 

Dean blinks. And it occurs to him that he just let Sam trick him into staying in a locked room with Cas, with nowhere to hide. 

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters emphatically. 

“Are you okay?” Cas asks. 

“Yeah,” Dean snorts. “I’m just peachy.”

“So you weren’t stabbed by those vampires in Hays.”

“No. And you weren’t shot by amateur hunters in Iowa.”

“No,” Cas says slowly. “I suppose Sam lied to us both, most likely to force us to stay in one room to communicate with each other.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, raising his eyebrows, “No shit, Sherlock.”

“What does he want me to say?” Cas asks. His voice breaks, and he sounds absolutely crushed. 

“I haven’t got a clue, man.”

“Does he want me to move back into the bunker?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Do  _ you _ want me to move back into the bunker?”

Dean’s too tired of running to say anything other than, “Yes.”

They sit next to each other, and it’s silent, for a while. 

  
  
  


Cas moves back in, so Dean does too. They unpack together, first taking out all of Cas’s things from his car and slowly putting them back into his room. It doesn’t escape Dean that a lot of Cas’s things are still in his duffle bags. 

Moving all of their physical possessions back into the bunker is easy. 

It’s the process of remembering that you have somewhere,  _ someone _ to go back to, that’s more difficult. 

Cas forgets to make Dean his coffee almost all the time, and Dean startles at Cas’s sudden movements way too often. 

But they’re slowly learning how to live together again. 

When Dean makes food, Cas opens the door before Dean can set the food down and run away. 

When it’s time to do housework, Dean ropes Cas into doing it with him. 

“I don’t live here alone, I ain’t sweeping the floor alone.”

“Dean, I’m not human. I create substantially less waste than you do.”

“Are you trying to get out of this?”

“... No.”

“Good. Take your damn broom and start sweeping.”

Cas sighs. “Of course, Dean.”

  
  
  


And, of course, they reinstate movie night. 

“C’mon, man, Tombstone is a classic!”

“Dean, you’ve made me watch that movie six times already.”

“For old time’s sake?”

“No. Pick something else.  _ Anything else.” _

Dean pouts, but chooses a different movie. 

He plays Indiana Jones for the fourth time just to spite Cas. 

He hears Cas’s audible sigh, and turns around. Cas is staring at him with an expression partly of exasperation, and partly of fondness. 

Dean winks cheekily. 

  
  
  


They’re in the kitchen of the bunker, cleaning the dishes. Dean is scrubbing them, while Cas dries them and puts them back in the cupboards. 

“I saw you,” Dean tells Cas, staring at the bowl in his hands. 

Cas tilts his head. 

“What are you talking about?”

“In the djinn dream. When that djinn got me, and mind-whammied me. I saw you. We were married.”

Cas freezes. 

“It was a nice dream,” Dean continues. “I had no idea that anything was wrong. We had our own place, outside the bunker, and a fucking ugly painting on our bedroom walls, even though it kept on changing.”

Cas doesn’t say anything. 

“We were married,” Dean whispers. 

“We were on a hunt, weren’t we?” Cas says quietly. “When I realized that something was wrong. We were hunting… oh, what was it, a werewolf in Wichita?”

You don’t grow up a hunter without quickly learning that hope is dangerous. It deceives, makes you want for something you can never have. And when all hope is lost, you go down with it. 

That doesn’t stop it from blooming in Dean’s chest. 

“Yeah, it was. Wait,” he says, “But I thought Sam said that the djinn didn’t even get you, that it only banged you up a bit. And how were we in the same place?”

“Djinn venom has many unique properties,” Cas says. “It is able to cause hallucinatory effects even when the djinn has died. Of course, it is much less potent, and the djinn is unable to control the dream to make it seem realistic. It can only reuse worlds that have already been created, and those worlds start to… for lack of better descriptors, those worlds start to fray at the edge.”

“The discrepancies,” Dean whispers. “The painting, the floor, everything that Cas… that  _ you _ pointed out before you stabbed yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Dean squirts some more dish soap from the squeezy bottle onto the pan that he’s now washing. 

“Is that what you want? To be married to me?”

After a pregnant pause, Cas says, “Yes.”

“Me,” Dean says, and clears his throat. “Me too. That’s what I want too. I want ---  _ mmppfffhhh.” _

Cas kisses him in the middle of his sentence. 

There’s no pause, no hesitation. 

Dean places his soapy hands on Cas’s waist and kisses him for what could have been hours and hours. 

  
  
  


After a while, they pull apart. Dean presses their foreheads together, cinches his arms around Cas’s waist. 

“Marry me for real then,” he whispers into Cas’s hair. “If that’s what you want. Marry me.”

“I’m already yours,” Cas whispers back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like destiel, and want to chat with more destiel people/scream about finale/scream about confession scene/just scream in general join the profound bond discord!!! (https://discord.gg/profoundbond) we're all really cool i swear
> 
> also, morrigan -- you said that you liked both established relationship, idiots in love, and friends to lovers. i tried my best to add all of them in xD

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make a bunch of obvious hints, and I even wrote it down in my planning doc because ya girl is forgetful as heck.


End file.
